


Cauldron, Bubble And Broil

by aradinfinity



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-08-17 00:48:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8124169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aradinfinity/pseuds/aradinfinity
Summary: CW: None that I'm aware of, but leave a comment if you find something and I'll update this.





	1. In Which A Wix Is Coerced

**Author's Note:**

> CW: None that I'm aware of, but leave a comment if you find something and I'll update this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Violence.

The snow had fallen deep last night, wrapping the world in a soft, crunchy blanket. Her boots were heavy through it, and she let them drag, heralding her arrival to the chicken coop. She turned the knob, and a hand descended on her shoulder. She froze.  
“Well, I've finally found you,” a baroque voice said, and the hand turned her around. The man was large, tall enough she couldn't see his face for the brim of her hat, and barrel-chested. His whole body seemed heavy, drooping limbs and slouched back. He turned, not letting go, and shouted “Jack! She's over here!”  
A younger man appeared from behind her cottage, his dark clothes blending into the trees surrounding them. His face was white, regardless of the cold, and she could make out scars on his cheeks. His grin spread, predatory and sharp, and he growled a “Well, well, well.” Someone else slipped out behind him, just barely seen, walking on the snow rather than through it.  
She said nothing. It seemed like the best thing to say.  
“Cheer up, eh?” Jack laughed, crunching closer. The other lingered behind, away from the scene. “We've just got a job for you, wix.”  
“A job?” The words were out before she could stop them, and she hesitated, then hurried on. “What kind of job? You all seem, ah, hale and hearty, so I doubt I'd need to set anything, unless one of you've a missus who's got her time now?” Jack's grin widened as she babbled. “Or do you need a poultry for something, or a reading, or-”  
“None of that,” Jack interrupted, clearly enjoying her squeak. “We're breaking into the tower, and we need someone to deal with the magical wards. Of course, we couldn't risk you runnin' to the coppers.” He let the threat hang in the air for a moment while the words sank in.  
The village lived in the shadow of the tower. It rose over the landscape, like a lighthouse over a rocky shore, or a penis on a man who is not that drunk yet. It was, of course, against the law to interfere with it. Never mind that the last mage had perished over a generation ago, that it had remained dark at nights since. Never mind that it had remained, derelict but whole, all that time; never mind the rumors of riches untold.  
Oh, there had been attempts to break in before, she knew. Those usually ended with the persecutors safe behind bars. But those hadn't had a wix.  
“You're sweating,” Jack noted pleasantly. “Awful cold out to be sweating.”  
“I- yeah, okay. I'll do it,” she said, looking up into his eyes. She hoped he saw her determination and defiance, her fire and indignation at being imposed upon like this. But more than likely, he just saw someone who was trying to act tough to hide her shaking knees.  
He laughed, and jerked his head towards the trees. “Come on, then.”

On the way, she learned that the big man's name was Dalton. He'd been part of this since the start, the brawns to Jack's brain. He was there to threaten people, “but they don't usually need threatening when they see me,” he'd gloated, and flexed. She'd agreed.  
The other person's name was Sam, and they made Dalton uncomfortable, though he'd leaned down to confide this to her. They didn't make noise. They moved too quietly. They somehow had five or six knives tucked away. Dalton didn't know where Jack had gotten Sam, or what their agreement had been. “But you've been in this from the start,” she pointed out.  
“Yeah, well, Sam just showed up one day,” Dalton grumbled, “and Jack told me that'd been the plan, and acted like he knew them. I wish he'd told me beforehand.”  
“Enough of that,” Jack spouted from behind them. “Don't get attached to this one, Dalton, you know what happened last time.” He ambled ahead again, adding, “And it's clear in to the first chamber. After that, we'll be depending on Sam and the wix to get us through to when you can put your muscles to use.”  
Dalton nodded, but frowned.  
“What happened last time?” she asked.  
“I'm not supposed to tell you,” Dalton grumbled, and wouldn't look at her.  
They walked the rest of the way in silence.

The doors to the tower were gilt, inscribed with images, divided into quarters. On the upper left one was a person, wearing a robe and a cloak, flapping in the wind with a staff held before them. The person's face was blank. Beneath them, the door seemed almost to wrinkle, a bar separating the person from... something beneath them, four hands outstretched. It curled and contorted off the door, and behind it, strangly perserved in the creases, was a smooth creature, a long neck supporting a horned head beneath the bar.  
The right door seemed almost a reverse; two creatures above, one like a panther with too many claws, the other a bird aflame- or, no, made of flame. Underneath them was a plain, cracked, many figures too small to make out individually scattered across them. Somehow, she knew that they, too, would be faceless.  
“There's a magic on the door,” Jack stated. She blinked at him, and he grinned. “I can see magic. So, dispel it.”  
“That's not what I'm-” She bit back the statement, though it was too late. She swallowed, then nodded. “Right.” And she strode forward, reaching out towards the door.  
_That's a bad idea,_ a thought noted. She faltered. That hadn't been her voice. _No, it wasn't,_ the thought continued pleasantly. _Let me see..._  
She felt as though she were moving through molasses. The knowledge that she was interpreting time at a different rate did nothing to dispel her rising panic. Her memories were opened to the thing, which she could feel in her mind now, delicately clawing through her mind in one, two, three heartbeats. Then it retreated, a fin brushing her mind, and the thought _Press the cat's eyes_ made itself known. Everything went back to normal.  
“Everything alright?” Jack inquired. “Seemed like it reached out to you there for a second.”  
“It's fine!” she shot back, then reached up and found the cat's head. Her fingers slid to its eyes, and she pressed... and the door opened, like it was resting on silk bearings. No creak, no slam. It just slid open.  
“Huh,” Jack said. Then he shrugged. “Well, I'll take it. Come on.” He pushed past them into the hallway, which was dim. Dust swirled in their path. Dalton patted her on the shoulder on his way past, gave her a little squeeze. She felt glad for the comfort, and followed.  
Eventually, they came to another door. This one was plain, a simple knob holding it shut. “There's magic through,” Jack said, then jerked his head at the door. “Wix, find it out.”  
She nodded, Dalton stretching to give her the most room he could as she reached for this door. Her hand pressed against the wood without interruption, and she closed her eyes and felt.  
She could feel the whorls of the wood. She could feel Jack and Dalton fall back to talk, though she couldn't feel what they said. She could feel... Odd. Where had Sam gone? She could feel that the doors had closed behind them. She expanded her touch.  
She could feel the traps. They were simple, ready to be triggered, or... She twisted, and one closed. She nodded, and moved to the next. She could feel two minds.  
_Hello again,_ said the voice. It curled around her mind, isolating her from the others, though she could feel that wasn't a bad idea. _Certainly not,_ the thing agreed. The next trap closed, and on the third, it said _Ah- like this,_ and she suddenly had the knowledge of how to close it. She thought about the other mind, and got a chuckle in response. _I doubt she'll take to you easily._ A sigh. _She's had a hard life, that one... But you can do it._ She didn't know what she was doing. _She's saying I'm too eager. Should I not be?_ She didn't know. The chuckle, again; the fourth trap came closed, and the voice said, _I should leave you be for now. Your... employer... is becoming impatient. Farewell._  
And the mind was gone. No, not gone; she could feel it out there, above. She knew it would be waiting for her. She opened the door. There was a sound, and a blur of motion.  
She looked up. The blade had impacted, vibrating, a centimeter from the wall above her head. The reason it was above was because of the knife jammed expertly into the mechanism. Sam plucked their dagger from the trap, and pocketed it again before walking away.  
“And you were worrying about Sam,” Jack gloated over his shoulder as he strode into the chamber. It was clearly a dining room, with a single door across from it; dust coated the settings, which were simple. Jack plucked one from the table, blew it clean, and inspected it before tossing it over his shoulder.  
Dalton caught it, inspected it, and licked it. He wrinkled his nose. “'S gold,” he said. “Tastes like four karat.” A sack was produced, and the dishes, cups, and utensils were swept into it, Dalton rummaging through to steady them before pulling the whole thing over his shoulder.  
“The door,” Jack said, indicating the one opposite them. Sam had disappeared again, so she stepped up, swallowing. She reached out, and there was a sensation of motion...

The wix had disappeared. Dalton blinked, then growled, and strode towards the door. “Dalton-” Jack started, but he'd already touched it.  
Suddenly, Dalton was in another place. It was a stone hallway, curved, and he stood at the center. He turned, one way and then the other. Both had doors, and each door was exactly the same. He frowned, picked a direction, and walked towards it.


	2. In Which A Trial Is Taken

_Margaret,_ the thought said. She started, then stopped. _I'm not allowed to help you here, not directly,_ the voice apologized. _It's the second test. You've got to prove yourself worthy to him, but..._  
“But?” she said out loud.  
_You can just think it,_ the voice explained. _But the problem is, he's... Not here._  
She frowned, and tried thinking 'Dead?'  
_Well, no,_ the thought arrived, and it sounded annoyed. _That's not really a state he can be in. But the last time I tried looking for him, I lost my form..._  
'So,' she thought, 'if he's not here, why can't you help me?'  
_I am bound by the rules,_ the voice exposited. _Without the rules, we would have anarchy._ She sighed. _I know. But I am unable to break them. The most I can do is say what he would. Find the center._  
'What does that mean?'  
_I can't tell you._ The voice sounded exasperated. _All I'm allowed to do is provide company._ Margaret shook her head, and sighed.  
She was in a square room, the same as all the others; completely blank, except for four doors, each exactly the same, and a smooth pedestal squatting in the center of the room. There were curved passages, she knew, and it seemed that each curved passage was connected on both sides to a square room. Find the center, she'd been told; the center of what? The labrynth? She paused. Her mind had jumped to that word without consulting her.  
She found a coin, in one of her pockets, placed it on the pedestal face up. It glimmered, and she turned to the way she'd been going. She had a hunch...

Dalton was well and truly lost. Oh sure, he'd been lost before, but never this totally; never this alone. One of his gifts was that he had an immaculate sense of time. He knew, without a doubt, that he had been wandering for thirty minutes. Well, thirty four. Thirty four minutes, he'd been walking, in as straight a line as he could. He thought that he would come back around to where he had started; he would have to, right, if these corridors were curved? They all curved in the same direction, too. So, by definition, he'd be walking in a circle.  
He'd seen no sign of the others in the maze. No wix, no Jack, no Sam. No nobody. No signs of their passage; there was no dust, in here. The walls were perfect, unmarked stone. The floor... Well, he'd taken to placing things from his sack before each door, before he tried it. Anyone who wanted to follow would have a trail.  
He just hoped he'd catch up with himself soon. He hadn't found the first fork he'd set yet.

This wasn't right.  
There should be a square room, here. She'd just come from a curved passage; experience dictated that there should be a square room. But instead, she was in another curved passage. She frowned.  
'Voice?' she thought.  
_Present,_ arrived momentarily.  
'This isn't right,' she explained, then tried to send the logic.  
_You're right,_ the thought agreed. _It should be. But it's not._  
'What's that supposed to mean?'  
_Exactly what I said._  
She frowned, then sighed. 'Oh- do you have a name?'  
_Yes._  
She waited.  
She waited.  
She thought, 'Oh, stop being difficult.'  
The voice chuckled. _My name,_ it said, _is Threll._  
'Land under wave?' The knowledge had arrived with the word.  
_Quite ironic,_ Threll noted. Margaret waited, but an explanation was not forthcoming.  
'So,' she thought. 'There is no square room here. Or, I cannot access it.' There was a brief hint of... something, from Threll. 'I've counted seven since I placed the coin. If I go back seven, then I... Will see what I see.'  
She walked. The hallways connected. One room. Two. Three.  
The eighth room was missing.  
'Interesting. Alright, then. Did placing the coin do something to the room?'  
_It depends._  
'Depends, huh...? Alright. I'm going to go back to a room and try another direction.'

Dalton shook his head. He'd run out of utensils. That was worrying. But here he was, in a square room. There were three doors.  
He paused. Shouldn't there have been four? Yes, there were four, he confirmed; the one he had come through, one on the other side, and two more on either side of him. Right. He didn't touch them- he'd learned that touching them would transport him, whether he wanted to be or not. It was, of course, magic. But should he keep going in that direction? It hadn't gotten him anywhere so far... Except lost, of course.  
Dalton glanced between the three doors- wait. Four doors. He breathed consciously, rolling his shoulders. He let his eye wander, and- there! One of the doors was... Greyed. He frowned at it. He could only see that when he wasn't looking directly at it, like it thought it could let the mask down. Dalton turned away, glancing over his shoulder at it as he went through the door opposite.

This room was different. It was large, round; in the center was a pool- or, no, a mirror, set in the ground; above it rose a spiral staircase, reaching up to the center of the domed ceiling like a curled arm, tethers connecting the upper slope to it.  
'Is this the center, Threll?'  
_You could say that._  
'Mm.' Margaret sighed, then started to climb.  
About halfway up, she glanced down. Then she looked again. She blinked.  
That wasn't a mirror.

There was a deep groaning from behind Dalton. He turned; nothing, but the groaning was growing louder. He fell into stance, holding up his fists as he waited, and then... The door he had come through greyed. He yelped, turned, and ran.  
The groaning, of a creature in distress, or metal folding, or stone buckling, was all around him now. He slid over a pedestal, then turned before he hit the newly greyed door, ran through another. The lights began to fade, and he began to swear out loud. There was a reason he didn't usually deal with magic.

Margaret could see, reflected below her, the map. It expanded out from the round room, growing more complex, like a snowflake. She could see dots moving, splashes of color on the background of grey, and- something was wrong. The rooms and corridors were disappearing, one at a time, faster and faster, and the center of the map was expanding. She could see that two of the dots were moving, trying to escape the collapse; Dalton?  
She closed her eyes, reached out; she'd have to hurry, but she felt she could... She felt the maze collapsing, the roar of entropy; she felt Threll around her, watching, unable to aid; she felt the gold jamming the maze, like something stuck in its teeth; she felt two minds in the maze, which it was trying to force out, and she stepped forwards (she shouldn't have been able to, she was leaning against the siderail, wasn't she?) and pushed her mind into the collapse, holding it apart, trying to lead the minds towards her...

Jack arrived. He took it all in; the mirror, the staircase, the wix floating in the center with her magic billowing around her like wings; she should really be discrete with that stuff, he decided. He nodded to Sam, and walked up the stairs, leaning against the outer rail and folding his arms as he waited.  
“You seen Dalton?” he asked.  
The wix opened her eyes, shook her head. “He's out there,” she said. Then she looked down. She froze.  
“Yeah, you might not wanna do that,” Jack said amicably. She said nothing. He sighed. “Sam, if you could rescue our friend, that'd be great.”  
Sam crouched on the rail, then reached out. They grabbed the wix's foot, pulled her out of the air, and she stumbled onto the stairs, sitting down heavily.  
“He's out in the maze?” Jack confirmed, and she nodded. “Where?”  
She blinked at him. “Just look down. I think he's the orange dot.”  
Jack nodded. Jack said, “I don't see any orange dot.”  
“What?” The wix scrambled up, looked at the mirror. “No, it's right there, can't you see it?” She pointed at the fog of magic.  
“Nope. All I know is, there's a powerful spell on that. You're the wix, though.” Jack raised an eyebrow. “So, get him back.”  
“Right.” The wix closed her eyes.

'Why couldn't I feel Sam?' she asked Threll.  
She got the mental equivalent of a shrug. _It's not my place to say,_ was the answer.  
Margaret sighed. She reached out...

Dalton scratched at his stubble. He was sitting in a dark room, on a pedestal, waiting. The lights had gone off when he'd been caught, and none of the doors had let him through, even when he threw his shoulder against them. Seemed that they were just rock. He ignored the soreness in his arm, sighed. He knew Jack would rescue him.  
There was a soft hum. He glanced at one of the doors; it had lit up. Well, he knew what that meant. He strolled on over and touched the door.

“How did you know about me?” Margaret asked.  
Jack shrugged. “People talk,” he said.  
She stiffened. “They wouldn't-”  
“Wouldn't what? Tell someone with a bad leg where to find a wix? Or who wanted to keep the foxes out of his chicken coop?” He leaned against the side of the stairs. “There's Dalton.”  
He ambled over, frowning. “Lost the loot. Sorry Jack.”  
Jack sighed. “Well, it happens. There'll be more. Up we go!”  
Sam was waiting at the top of the stairs. There was a door there, and Margaret glanced towards Jack before putting her hand on it.  
She felt... Jack, and Dalton, but no Sam- she opened an eye and, yes, they were there, where they had been- and the magic over the cold mirror (it felt cold even to her mind) and permeating the walls. She felt the two minds, felt them touch each other briefly, as though in passing; but she didn't feel any magic, so she reached down, turned the handle, and opened the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The woman leaned against the wall. She wore plain pants and a dirt-stained button up shirt under a vest; carried between the top two buttons was a small ruby broach, shaped like an oval. Her hair was worn short, a pair of cat ears parting the curled black mess above her dark skin; a tail flicked between her legs. Her eyes were a glittering, almost glowing green, and her expression was as though she'd just tasted curdled milk. “They've got a Wheel with them,” she complained. “Why didn't you tell me about the Wheel?”  
> “I don't care if they don't know,” she told the air, crossing her arms over her chest. “We can both taste it. That's the point.”  
> She grunted. Then she said, “Fine. But this is all going to come crashing down around our ears, you know. Yes, I know you don't have ears anymore. I'm not losing mine for this... This interloper.”  
> She rolled her eyes. “It's fine. Look, when you get your body back, you can worry about how mine's dressed.”  
> “We don't have time for that. And you know I won't let anyone in my mind. You know why, too.”  
> “Yeah, yeah. Love you too, cuz.” She sighed.  
> The doorknob turned.  
> “Finally,” she growled, and turned towards it.


	3. In Which A Trial Is Failed

Margaret looked into the dark. She thought she could make out something, a slight green...  
Someone snapped their fingers, and the lights flared on. Jack stiffened. Then, the woman was gone.  
After three seconds, Margaret remembered to breathe.  
“What was-”  
“Magic,” Jack interrupted. “And lots of it. Practically oozed magic.” He growled, then shook his head. “And now we're expected to go in? Sam-” He turned, but they were gone. “Fuck.”  
Dalton put a hand on Jack's shoulder. “Hey,” he said, softly. “Breathe.”  
Jack blew air through his nose not unlike a primitive steam engine. He sighed, then growled, “Fine. But don't expect me to be happy about it.”

The tower had stood nearly empty for a long, long time. Only one pair of feet had padded through it, for almost as long as it could remember. There had been more, once, hadn't there?  
There had been four tests. The new people had found their way through the first two, ready for the third, but... Did the arbiter of that test remain?  
It was difficult to think, for the tower. It remembered a time when it had not been, when it could be used by its master as a second brain. It thought it had had a master, at least...  
The pair of feet that belonged to the one that stayed padded on the tower's fourth floor. The hands opened a door, and the tower felt a breeze stirring its depths.  
The creature knelt on one of the tower's outcroppings and began to sing. It knew what those words meant.

Jack cursed.  
“What?” Margaret looked at him. They were standing side by side, just ahead of Dalton. The path ahead branched, but they had come to those before, and Jack had known which way to go.  
“It goes both ways,” Jack explained, rolling his eyes. “Which means either that our guide split, or...”  
“Is trying to confuse us,” Margaret concluded. She closed her eyes, feeling...  
'Threll? Can you help?'  
_This is part of her test._  
'So, no.'  
_Correct._  
“I'm not sure which way is the right one,” Margaret said without opening her eyes. “I can't feel the magic. We could try splitting up, rendevoux here...?”  
Jack started to say something, but at the same instant a flash of panic came through the link, along with the words _Get down!_ Then the rumbling started. Margaret felt motion, deep below her, and flung herself flat on the ground.  
When it stopped, Dalton was gone.

There was a sensation of motion, and then Dalton was stumbling out into the light. Real light, too, light from the sun, not the magic that had lit their way. He blinked, and realized that he was standing on a set of three steps, leading out from the tower to a round platform, where there stood a woman, dark haired and dark skinned, watching him. The wind blew, streaming her tail behind her, and Dalton felt his eyes widening.  
“You will choose your weapon,” she told him; her voice carried easily, though it was flat of emotion. “And we shall duel.”  
He glanced back behind him. The tower's side stretched, featureless, sprouting the outcropping he stumbled out onto like a leaf from the stalk of a plant. “Sorry,” he said, looking back at the woman. “I need to get back to my friends. I can't duel right now.”  
She just looked at him. She was smaller than he was, yes, but those ears spoke of something he could barely remember... “They will be fine,” she told him. Then, “If you do not duel, you will die.”  
“Sorry?” He frowned, and his eyes alit on her broach. Memory surged. “You're a bound djinn, aren't you? You're not allowed to kill me.”  
“Partially correct,” she informed him. “I would have expected better from a child of the Nine. But you haven't been trained, have you? Choose your weapon.”  
Dalton hesitated. He glanced back the way he had come. Nothing had changed. He swallowed, though his mouth was suddenly dry. “If I duel you,” he said, “will I get to go back to my friends?”  
“If you win.” Her green eyes were almost enchanting, inhuman.  
“And if I lose?”  
“You will cease to exist.”

Jack was on his feet again, pacing. They'd come to a dead end, though he insisted that the trail had led this way. Once Dalton had been vanished, so had one of the branches. “He can take care of himself,” Jack had said, though whether it was to reassure him or her she couldn't tell.  
Threll had been unresponsive. All she'd been getting through the link was worry. “Not helpful,” she murmured.  
“Did you say something?” Jack demanded.  
Margaret looked at him. “Yeah. I said that this wasn't helpful.”  
“Damn right,” he growled, glaring at the wall that steadfastly refused to budge.  
She let her eyes flutter shut, intending to rest for a moment, but then- “He's through there!”  
Jack started. “Dalton?”  
Margaret pushed up, dashing to the wall, feeling around it. “He's just twenty feet away,” she said. “I can feel him. We've got to get through this, and we can get to him.”  
Jack hummed. “Where's Sam? They could get through.”  
“I haven't been able to feel them,” Margaret told him. The wall was perfectly smooth. “Just you and Dalton.”  
Jack froze. Then he barked a laugh. “Yeah, you wouldn't. So we're on our own here, Dalton's just through there, Sam's who knows where... You're sure there's nothing else in the way?”  
Margaret felt again. “Yeah.”  
“Stand aside.”  
She looked at him, and her heart skipped a beat. Where had he pulled that sword from? But she scampered out of the way, hugging the wall now. He raised the sword, and began to sing.

Dalton hit the ground with a thud, his sword scattering away, vanishing as it dipped over the side of the platform. His hands crabwalked him back from the djinn's blade as she took one, two liesurely steps in his wake. One of his hands went over the side, and he clutched at the platform, panting.  
Then there was an explosion. The djinn glanced up, and Dalton followed her gaze and Jack spilled out, sword summoned, the wix glancing around before coming with.  
“You're early,” the djinn stated. The blade started to pull away, and Dalton saw his chance. He grabbed it, swung back up onto his feet- and hers impacted on his solar plexus with hitherto unknown force. His hand slipped off her sword, and for a moment he couldn't feel the pain.  
Then he fell.

Jack charged, and Margaret dashed to the edge, kneeling there and reaching out. She gulped. They were up higher than she'd thought. No time for that. She felt the magic swell in her, surging through her hand, reaching for Dalton. He reached for it, but his hands were slick with his blood, and-  
Dalton slammed into the ground, so far below. Her magic got there an instant later, forming the same shape as her hand as it shot over his unmoving body, and two fingers found his weakening pulse. She saw the rock piercing his body, and he smiled weakly up at her. Then his eyes closed, and he was gone.  
Margaret sat back, stunned, hands on her lap. Behind her, metal clanged on metal.


	4. In Which ??? ????? ????

For the first time in years, Jack felt pressed. This woman- no, this djinn- was his equal at the sword. Exactly his equal, in fact. She struck with the same force, danced away with the same speed. If he'd been able to consider, he'd have thought it suspicious; as is, though, it took most of his concentration to even keep his feet underneath him.  
Her sword was slightly curved, mistish, trying to reform with each parry and dodge. It struck his, then flourished, and he was thrown to the ground with a grunt. He rolled, then- stopped. There was a blade at his throat.  
Her eyes met his, and he quailed before her. Then she looked away. He turned his head slowly, following her gaze. “There you are,” she said to Sam, who had one hand hovering over their belt. “I wouldn't,” the djinn said, straightening up and removing her sword from Jack's throat. “You're already coming dangerously close to breaking the treaty.”

Muezza took two steps forward, her sword melting and reforming into its natural state. The blade curved, outer edge catching the light, the hook just an inch above the platform. “You're violating the spirit,” she told the Wheel, “if not the law itself. Is your God that eager to seize this place?” She narrowed her eyes.  
The Wheel hesitated, then glanced to the side.  
“If I wished to throw you from this tower,” Muezza said flatly, “none would accuse me of having broken the treaty.” She switched her grip on her blade, stepping forwards again. “Leave this place,” she growled, “and take your-”  
A blade exited just below her chest. She looked down at it. “Fine,” she grumbled. “I suppose that counts.” And she dissolved.

Margaret looked up at the voice. She saw Jack stand, saw him ready his sword, saw it pierce the woman's body. The wix whimpered. Then the woman turned to light, flickering orange as she streamed up from the platform. Jack collapsed onto his hands and knees, sword following suit, and panted.  
Sam turned, strode onto the platform. They placed a hand on Jack's shoulder, and he looked up at them. They squeezed lightly, then turned to Margaret. She stood shakily. “Right,” she said. “Right, uh-”  
Sam's hand slammed into Margaret's head, and she felt a pressure on her mind. Her body stood stock still as she thrashed, and then was forced under. Something caught her.  
_I've got you,_ a voice said- (not Threll-) and Margaret felt arms around her. _Don't struggle, or I'm liable to let go,_ the voice grumbled.  
Margaret blinked. Was that her body, there? She could see Jack, standing up and watching, and... Sam glowed, flickering in this blueshifted, otherworldy dimension. She looked down, at the four arms holding her, at Dalton's body, way down there- she couldn't see it very well, here, even though they were drifting in that direction. Then she looked back, and yelped in the djinn's face before starting to wriggle.  
_I said don't struggle!_ she groaned, hands holding Margaret tight. _Threll wants you down there in one piece,_ the djinn complained, _and I can't ensure that if I drop you. So just... Relax, alright?_  
Margaret took a deep breath, letting herself still, blinking a few times. _Threll...?_ she asked.  
The djinn rolled her eyes. _Yeah. My cousin. He's grown a bit attached to you._  
Margaret frowned.  
_Look,_ she said as they drifted through the ground, a bubble of space encapsulating them. _We'll be there in like, thirty seconds, and you can hear it from him, ok?_  
Margaret sighed and nodded.  
_Great. And since we're talking names, mine's Muezza._  
_Margaret,_ Margaret said.  
Muezza nodded, and then her feet touched the ground. She set Margaret on it, then let her go. She looked up, and stiffened. _I told you not to save him!_ she complained, striding towards a man with pale skin, four arms, and a blue broach over where a human's heart would be. Dalton sat behind him, and he glanced up, then jumped to his feet.  
_I didn't!_ Threll said, holding up his hands. _He just sort of... Showed up._  
Dalton strode towards Margaret, hands running through his hair as he tried a wan smile. _Did you die too?_ he asked.  
Margaret shook her head, then slid forward, curling her arms around Dalton's torso. He hesitated, then returned the hug gently. He felt warm and solid and alive.  
_I guess I was missed,_ he said, and Margaret nodded.  
_You're the only one who was decent to me,_ she told him. _I thought I'd lost you._ Somewhere behind him, Muezza threw up her arms in exasperation.  
_Fine,_ she snapped. _But we need to get Margaret back to her body quickly. I don't know what the Wheel's planning with it, but I'd bet it's not good._  
Threll nodded, two of his hands curled inside each other. Then he turned to the humans. _Dalton, Margaret,_ he called. _We need to get through this quickly. It shouldn't be too difficult._ He smiled.  
The large man gave Margaret a squeeze, then pulled away. They walked towards Muezza as she turned something with her third hand, and a door slid open, stairs leading down.  
The djinn ushered the humans down, accompanied by Muezza's grumble, towards a pale pink light. The four of them emerged in a circular room, lit by a smooth stone, whose glow seemed almost to beat.  
_Touch it,_ Muezza said. _Let it feel you._  
Margaret hesitated, then reached out. Her fingers brushed the stone, and something pulled her forwards, laying her palm flat against it. It felt warm, almost alive, and Margaret felt-  
She felt the tower. Felt it find her, like a sleeper in the middle of the night, blinking their eyes open at a nudge, faculties coming alight slowly. She felt its warmth, felt its glow. She knew where her body was, where Jack was; she could feel them through the tower. Somewhere behind her, Muezza swore.  
_Alright,_ the djinn said. _Maybe you were right, Threll._  
_Only maybe?_ he asked innocently.  
_Hush,_ Muezza said.


	5. In Which A Fight Breaks Out

Jack was not happy.  
That was an understatement. He was pacing, hands balling into fists, gritting his teeth. Every now and again, he would glance over the side of the platform, down at what had been Dalton. The wix stood silently, hands at her sides, placid. Sam watched.  
“You told me,” Jack growled, “that this wouldn't happen. You said he'd be safe. That was the only way I'd agree to let him come.”  
“Because he was my responsibility!” Jack huffed, turning to them and crossing his arms. “Not only that, he was my friend. I don't know if you have a concept of that, but this- this wasn't supposed to happen!” He waved towards the ground vaguely.  
He set his jaw. “No,” he said. “No, that wouldn't take. You know he's resistant. All we'd get is the body, not the mind.”  
“Look,” he interrupted. “If the plan can include destroying that- that djinn, then I'm in. But we're going back around to collect his body afterwards. We'll bury it back home. Got it?”  
“Fine,” Jack said. “And don't try to renege, either. You know we're the best you can get. I'm. The best you can get.”  
He nodded, then stormed back into the tower.

_What are they doing?_ Margaret asked.  
_They're trying,_ Muezza said, _to draw me out, so the tower won't have a protector._ She flinched as a sword struck a wall. Threll put a hand on her shoulder.  
_But why?_ Dalton asked. _All this, I wasn't told about this. The plan was to rob the joint, right? Grab the valuables and go._  
Threll cleared his throat. _Well, I believe that the Wheel is trying to repossess it. There hasn't been a Protector in a long time..._  
_A Protector?_ Margaret looked at him. Threll looked uncomfortable.  
_We'll tell you once we've dealt with this,_ Muezza growled. _But I can't fight both the Wheel and the Child at the same time. Not while trying to protect your body._  
_Sorry, what did you call him?_ Dalton asked. _D'you know anything about his abilities? Well, I should say ours, but..._  
_A Child of the Nine._ Muezza glanced at Dalton. _Old human order made to counter magic. That a Wheel's gotten not one, but two assisting is... Worrying._  
_A what?_  
Muezza sighed. _There will be time later. First, we need to get you to the staff._  
Margaret blinked. _The staff? I've never been good with those..._  
_It's traditional,_ Threll informed her. _A channel for the Protector's magic. If you can get it, then you should be able to take back your body._  
_And if you can take the Child,_ Muezza nodded to Jack, _I can take the Wheel. Once we've cast those intruders out, we should be able to catch you up to speed. But if they get to the staff first..._  
_That would be bad,_ Threll agreed. _But if we can get you in, that'll work._  
Dalton cleared his throat. _What about me?_  
Muezza looked at him. Then she grinned. _I think I have an idea..._

Jack sang, under his breath. It was how he accessed the magic. It flowed through his arms, down his sword, charring the brick and mortar of the tower. “You're sure this will work?”  
“I'm just saying,” he said, “I'm pretty sure that we haven't been attacked again. I'd remember that.”  
“Maybe,” Jack said, “she's smarter than you're giving her credit for.”  
He winced. “I know,” he said. “I don't like the thought either. But you've gotta think about it. Underestimating your opponent's a good way to get killed.”  
“It's a problem for humans,” he snapped. “I know it doesn't cross your mind up on that cloud of yours, but it's something that we tend to focus on.” There was a sound behind him, and he turned. The wix had collapsed. “What now?” Jack groaned.  
There was the sound of fire, and he grimaced, turning with his sword toward the forming djinn as he started the song back up.

Muezza's blade snapped up, catching Jack's sword and flourishing right as he pulled it back. “That won't work on me again,” he growled, and she grinned.  
Margeret stood, unsteadily, the suggestion of water around her, and Muezza thrust forwards, trusting in Jack's reflexes to spin her around through and deliver a kick to the face of the Wheel, which turned to her with a hiss. The knife they threw bounced off the wall, missing Margaret entirely, and Muezza threw herself into an attack.  
Behind you, Threll noted, and she spun under the slash, bringing a knee and then a hand into Jack's stomach. “I was playing fair last time,” Muezza purred. Her free hand grabbed Jack's shoulder, and she threw him towards the Wheel, who dodged. “Now would be a good time, Dalton,” she said, and Jack's recovery faltered.  
Muezza's kopis swirled through the air, and the Wheel opened their mouth. **_“You broke the treaty,”_** they said. **_“Not us.”_**  
She grinned. “Sure did,” she chirped, catching their blade with hers and twisting until it sundered. The Wheel scrambled back, swearing. “You Wheels and your fancy swords... Why are you here, anyway?”

Margaret held the staff in slightly trembling fingers, a defensive stance in front of Jack. “You've got to be kidding,” he growled. His eyes went from Margaret to Muezza, then back.  
“Sorry,” she said, lowering the staff towards him. His eyes widened.  
“Oh no,” he said, “we're not doing that.” He surged forwards, and Margaret felt Threll guiding her, bring the staff up to block his blows, until finally the sword stuck. She closed her eyes, and let the magic flow out of her.  
**_“Your Protector is unable to provide,”_** said a voice from behind them. Margaret glanced, and Sam's mouth glowed with light. **_“The Lord has decreed that we shall have this tower.”_**  
“Tell your God,” Muezza growled, “that the deal's off. He's not trustworthy.” She spun her blade, and it sliced through Sam's throat easily. They dissolved into light, which flowed out through a window, then up. Muezza nodded, then turned to Margaret. She laughed. “Maybe we won't have to kill him after all.”  
Margaret looked at Jack. His hands were up, his face pale. She lowered the staff, and half of his sword clanged to the ground. The other half had stuck, and the staff had grown around it, almost like a shard of glass; it glowed, faintly.

Jack was escorted through the tower by the djinn woman, who held her sword to his back. What was left of his was in her other hand. “Look,” she said finally. “I don't think you're a bad kid. You just need to learn not to tangle with angels.” He didn't respond.  
“And we need more of your kind. You're a check, a way to keep humanity working against all odds. You keep us on our toes. But this stint, well, when I was involved with the Nine it'd require breaking vows.” She waited.  
“Besides which,” she added, “you're the only humans I can think of that'd know how to give Dalton a new body.” He made a noise. She opened the door, then tossed his sword out in the rain; something caught it, and Jack could see Dalton filling in. He didn't need the djinn's urging to rush out to him.

Muezza watched them from the doorway. She'd set her kopis down, leaned against the frame.  
_Do you think that was the right thing to do?_ Threll asked her.  
She sighed. “I don't know,” she said. “But it'll make our master happy. And we need that to get her ready for the angels.”  
Threll assented. _I'll go keep her company,_ he said. Muezza felt his hand on her shoulder, and she smiled.  
“I'll be up shortly,” she promised. “Get her settled into her rooms.” Threll left, and Muezza watched the two Children until they left, half laughing and half crying.


	6. Chapter 6

_In the beginning, there was the desert, and three siblings. Laka, the middle sibling, was discontent._  
_It is too warm here, she said. Too warm, too dry, too barren. Where is the life? Where is the sound? How are we to know we exist past the feelings in our feet?_  
_Pele, the youngest sibling, said: There is no need for the clutter of life. There is no need for the sound. Let the warmth of sun and earth reassure you. Let your life live without others._  
_Kapo, the oldest sibling, said nothing. They had not since the three's exile._  
_They walked for many days and many nights; the siblings had no need to sleep or to eat, for they are gods. Finally, they came to an oasis._  
_Laka said: Look! Look! See the water feed the trees! See the trees feed the creatures! Is this not a perfect place among the sands? Is this not the apex of this desert?_  
_Pele said: Is this not errant? It is an oddity. It is sudden. Why does this exist? What god created it?_  
_Kapo said nothing. They always said nothing._  
_For many more days and many more nights, they traveled. Finally, they came to the base of a mountain._  
_Laka said: What is up there? What shall we find by exploring? I can see more life. I can see more..._  
_Pele said: I am content with the sand. I am content with the dry wind. Yet if you wish, we shall scale the mountain. Yet if you wish, we shall find your place._  
_Kapo said nothing._  
_For many days and many nights, the siblings walked. They shivered in the cold, though they are gods. Finally, they found a valley._  
_Laka said: This is a perfect place. This is a perfect time. I shall live here, among the reeds and rushes. I shall live here, among the plants and animals._  
_Pele said: If that is your wish, you shall live here. If that is your wish, I shall live there. We may yet live. We may yet thrive._  
_Kapo said: No. No. It is wrong. It is wrong._  
_Laka said: What do you mean? What do you see?_  
_Pele said: What do you think? What do you hope?_  
_Kapo said: We have received an appeal. We shall return whence we were. I know what is best for us. I know what is best for you._  
_Laka said: Why should we return? Why should we leave? This is a perfect place. This is a perfect time._  
_Pele said: Who would welcome us back? Why should we return to their laws, their worlds? Why should we not stay here?_  
_Kapo said: You doubt me still. You doubt our rights. We shall return and see our home. We shall return and see justice done._  
_Laka said: Can this world not be our home? Can this place not be my home? We should discuss this. We should calm down and discuss this._  
_Pele said: It would be to admit defeat. It would be to scurry back with our tails betwixt our legs. I will not leave this world. I will not return._  
_Kapo said: Then you shall perish with it. To stay would be foolish. To stay would be proud. My sister is not a fool. My sister is not you._  
_Other words were said, but they hardly matter. Kapo, in their fury, left their sisters behind. Laka found tranquility in the valley. Pele found warmth in the desert._  
_Over time, both of the sisters found themselves wishing for companionship. Laka gave several of the inhabitants voices, and strength, and family. She created Man._  
_Pele gave several of the sands voices, and thoughts, and family. She created Djinn._  
_Kapo directed the angels to this world, to retrieve their sisters. Kapo still will not let this grudge rest._  
_This tower is the central piece in this world. It is the lynchpin. Unity of djinn and man, of wix and zox..._  
_That's where we come in.”_ Muezza stopped talking, closing her hand around the flame that had formed there. She sighed, regarding Margaret balefully. “I don't expect you to understand your new responsibilities, now. Nor do I expect you to have ideas on where to begin. But to understand where you're going, you need to understand where you come from.” She stood, and the bed sprang back into place where she had sat. “You'll have dreams. New Guardians always do. Hopefully you'll be able to make some sense of them.”  
“... Muezza?” Margaret had drawn her legs up, curled her arms around her knees.  
The cat woman stopped at the stair, looked over her shoulder.  
“Where do you sleep? I know Threll doesn't have a body, but you do. And this is the only bedroom I felt...”  
She blinked, then smirked. “Are you asking me to sleep with you?”  
Margaret quailed, but put on a strong face and ignored her blush. “... Maybe.”  
Muezza shook her head. “Not tonight.”  
“Okay. Good night.”  
“Good night.” She paused. “But thank you for the consideration.” Then the djinn was gone, and Margaret found herself alone in the room, high above the ground, curled tightly in a too-large bed. She laid herself down and tried to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's late- I totally forgot today was Saturday.


	7. In Which A Dream Happens

There was a gentle rocking motion. Margaret tried to sit up, but there was something in the way- she pushed, and it clicked open, letting in light. The sky above her was deep blue, light clouds providing slight contrast. It looked to be about midday, but there was no sun. She glanced around, finding she was floating in a lake- no, a sea, there wasn't any land in sight. She'd never seen one before. Light waves struck the side of her... What was she sitting in?  
A bit of careful jostling and turning found her looking down at a deep red cushion, the box almost diamond shaped. It wasn't very comfortable, and the lid wasn't hinged- as she watched, it slid off into the water with a wet “plop,” floating away from the box. She tried, but couldn't reach it without tipping her floatation device dangerously.  
There was something else in the box. She pulled one end off the wood, then the other- it was the staff. The wood spiraled up, curving into a hook; at the end, four small beads dangled. Each was a different color; green, blue, red, yellow. She shifted the staff, and light sprayed over her, the beads clicking softly against each other. She guessed it was a type of cedar, from the color. There was a sound she couldn't define, and a band of greys stretched across the sky; she twisted to look at them, and they were gone.  
Margaret hesitated, watching the sky, then sighed and looked down. The water, she realized, was crystal clear; through it, she could see the bottom of the sea, fish of unknown species swimming across it. She guessed they were far off, as were the castles that rose from the sand, colors splashing over their sides; what she recognized as seaweed drifted from the tops, caught in currents that her box apparently didn't feel.  
Slowly, dreamlike, she reached out to touch the water. It stirred slightly as her fingers brushed it, and she could see her reflection, eyes focused, one lip bit in concentration. The staff hung over her, short brown hair drifting in a gentle breeze- and something caught her hand. She yelped, pulling back, but all she accomplished was tipping her makeshift boat over, sending both her and the staff into the water- she'd forgotten to close her eyes when she hit, and she realized that she was in the grip of her reflection, which hadn't vanished, though it rippled.  
_“Fourteen fortnights,”_ her reflection told her, and the water swirled around the both of them. Was that her voice?  
“What?” Margaret asked, and realized that she could breathe down here, though it was difficult- her body didn't want to believe it. Each breath was a forced gasp, each exhale purposeful.  
Her reflection smiled, and they stood on the bottom of the sea. The castles were small beneath their feet, tiny people gawking up at them, and Margaret blushed, finding the presence of mind to tug her skirt between her legs. _“Two sevens,”_ her reflection said, and she looked up at it again as it curled arms around her. _“Do not forget.”_ Then the sound again, and the world warped around her, greys crackling and tearing across the sea and the surprisingly small fish. The people beneath didn't seem to take any notice, though the only things holding constant were her reflection and the staff between them, like a chaperone. The world... twisted, vanished, and she shut her eyes against the light.  
When she opened them again, she was standing in a forest. Her reflection still held her, but it shimmered; “Fourteen fortnights until what?” she asked it. It smiled again, then leaned forwards and kissed her as it dissolved, leaving the taste of salt on her lips. She wriggled uncomfortably, clutching the staff, and looked around.  
The trees stretched into eternity; she could see between the ashen, grey things, but not over their tops. The sky, when she looked straight up, was dark; there was a sun, but it was hidden behind thick clouds, and it looked like it might rain at any time. Through the trees was a damp-looking fog, barely perceptible, on all sides; she must be in the middle of it, then.  
The thing that most unnerved her about this forest was that there was no sound. No, she realized, not no sound; just very, very quiet, a soft _shshshshsh_ as the trees adjusted in- wind? What wind? It was perfectly calm. Margaret broke into a sweat.  
She couldn't see the motion, not directly; they stopped when she looked at them, but she could still see it out of the corners of her eyes. She took a few deep breaths, glancing around, wide-eyed. They weren't getting closer, at least; they seemed to be leaving, even, forming a clearing around her. She clutched the staff, and it started to glow. The light helped calm her, and she closed her eyes. When she opened them, she saw that the trees had formed a path for her- the motion was continuing through the forest.  
“Um... Thank you?” she said.  
There was no answer.  
She shivered and hustled down the path, the staff's beaded end over her shoulder, lighting her way. The trees moved out of her way, and a glance confirmed that they were moving themselves back after she'd passed, leaving her no option but forward. She slowed, taking a few breaths to calm the beating of her heart.  
When she felt calm enough, she continued; was that light, far ahead of her, or was that just her own reflecting off the mists? They were growing thicker around her as she went. She paused, listening, and heard-  
_A horn in the mist. A drumbeat, which seemed to come from all sides, though the horn had come from the left of the path, which was curving to the right; the horn sounded again, closer, then again, even closer and more urgent. The drumbeats intensified._  
Margaret broke into a run. The trees were unsettled by this presence, she could feel it; and anything that unsettled them, she didn't want to meet. The path grew narrower and narrower as the trees had less and less time to move for her, leaping over roots, staff under her arm now, hands brushing bark as the noises grew louder and louder-  
She burst into a clearing, and the sounds abruptly cut off. The forest sighed, and she sighed with it. This clearing was filled with a small pavillion, and in that pavillion sat... someone. They had six arms, their grey hair in a ponytail behind them, a formal robe shrouding their body. The chair- or, no, throne- was gilt, and a large gold gem sat above them, glittering, caught by an internal light. They stood.  
_“Fourteen fortnights,”_ they told her, folding their arms. _“Seven and seven, and he will be lost forever. Find us, Guardian.”_  
They looked her over. She opened her mouth, but no words came out; she panted, instead, then closed her mouth.  
_“Free us.”_  
She woke up. The staff had wound up in bed with her, beads dangling in her hair; Margaret frowned, kicking her legs out and sitting up. Standing took a bit of effort- she hadn't eaten since around noon yesterday, and her stomach reminded her of that with a complaint. She dusted off the nibbled nightgown they'd found in the closet, which hung loosely on her, and followed her nose.  
Muezza was standing in the kitchen, back to the door, cooking over a small fire. Her extra arms weaved in and out of existence, snatching this and that, then releasing themselves. “It'll be ready in ten minutes,” she said without looking back. “How were your dreams?”  
Margaret frowned, mussing her hair with the hand not holding the staff. “Odd,” she finally answered. “I think you should hear them.”  
The djinn nodded. “After breakfast,” she dictated.  
Margaret's stomach growled in agreement, and she found a seat at the table. The only places laid out were at the head and the one beside it. “You're in my seat,” Muezza noted, and Margaret murmured an apology, sliding to the end of the table.  
The woman placed a plate of what looked like bacon and mashed potatoes, with a side of something that was probably vaguely vegetable, in front of Margaret; then, another at her place, before settling on it. “You're so... meek,” she finally said. “If it hadn't been for the tower, I wouldn't have thought you could be Guardian material.”  
Margaret looked at her food, and didn't respond.  
Muezza placed a hand on hers. “Hey. We'll see what happens. For now, eat your food.”  
“Thank you,” the wix murmured, and dug in.


	8. In Which A Prison Is Weakened

_The lack of pain woke her._  
_It wasn't a sudden absence, she realized; nor had it been signaled in the years she'd been held here. The snake had gone, but it had taken time for her to heal._  
_Down here, it was warm. It was always warm. A lesser being would likely have died from the heat, or the torture, but not her. Her surprising feet padded on the floor- why that shape?- as she stood from the marble bench she'd been..._  
_Tied to. An inspection of her wrists revealed that the rope was still there; a glance behind her showed it trailing after her feet, rasping across the smooth, almost polished, stone floor. It didn't just break, but frayed; a thought urged it along, and the ropes unwound themselves. She lifted a hand, and the hemp surged up her bare limbs, to her naked chest, where she wove it into what resembled a tunic. Close enough to wearable, for now._  
_She wiped her eyes with her wrist, and was rewarded with a splash of color- the green of the snake's ichor, against her light, almost pale skin. She didn't recognize this form, which she'd apparently adapted, or been forced into. But she did recognize this chamber. Above the core of the planet- a quick glance off the side gave her a glimpse of the light far, far below, and a queasiness in her stomach- stood a pinnacle, almost as though a stalactite had fallen and impaled the core. On the perfect, polished flatness of the pillar stood an altar, of sorts; it was the right height for this form's legs to comfortably sit, and large enough that she'd been tied to the spikes rising from it, marring the smoothness of the stone. Above her sat dozens, hundreds of stalactites, which the snake had woven itself between and around._  
_She didn't fault the snake for what it had done. It was impersonal; just business. No, this had been her punishment; some hodunk torture, ripped from some off-world mythology. She found her lip curling in distaste, and shook her head. Better to think about that when she was out of here._  
_Behind her, there was a rattle; she dodged instinctively, and the snake slipped past her, rustling against her tunic. Her hand found its back, and she vaulted over it before it could start to coil, landing on the altar in a crouch as she faced it._  
_The snake was long, but not large; it was a good ten meters, but its time down here had served to starve it, as much as her. She could count the bones in its body, could see the muscles tensing behind its jaw, its wild eyes focusing on her as she jumped. The spray of ichor caught the edge of her tunic, and there was a hiss as it started to dissolve, but she didn't pay it any mind. Her hand caught one of the snake's horns, and she swung around, delivering a knee to the jaw before sliding off the shaking thing, landing too close to the edge of the platform._  
_She was aware that snakes didn't normally have horns; however, this one did. The only other thing to separate it from its brethren was its size, and the way it was shaking around, almost whining. She nodded, horrid feet slipping on the smooth stone, and managed to get enough momentum that when she hit it, she forced it back. Its head hit a ledge above, and she slammed her hand into its scales._  
_Before it could respond, she breathed, “Be at peace.” It slowed, and with almost a sigh, relaxed against the ledge. It started to slip, but the grey crackling up its body affixed it in place. She echoed its sigh, stumbling back from the edge of the pillar and sitting heavily upon the altar. She glanced down at her tunic, and made a face; she'd have to find some other fabric to weave, and soon. She didn't fancy walking the world alone, almost nude._  
_Then she noticed you. She sat up, blinking; then, stood. “Well,” she said, “that makes things different. An audience.” She grinned, then turned to what had once been an ordinary snake, plucked indiscriminately from the world above. Her hands and feet, odd though they were, served to scramble her up it to the ledge. “They never think about the animals,” she murmured, and hurried along._  
_The next chamber was much simpler. A stairwell, circular, led up. The steps were too large for this form; she had to scramble up them one at a time, ignoring the phrases engraved upon them- things like For The Children and Because Mother Said and It Wouldn't Hurt Anyone. She paused, a hand on the wall, and told you, “That place was to be my Hell. Someone went a little overboard. But- oh, what's this?”_  
_The stairs, at this point, were covered in rubble. She sighed, looking up; sure enough, portions of the stairwell were missing. And it wasn't like they'd put a central pillar here, either. She held out her hand, and after a moment, a staff fell into it. It was carved, ornate; she set the end on her step, and the pair of snakes twined up her arm, curling around her. One nestled its wooden head beneath her jaw, and the other slipped down her left arm. “Well,” she said, “what do you think?”_  
_The snakes waved indecisively, and she smiled. “Yes,” she told them, “it's good to see you too. But let's not spend too long on this. I've got an audience.” She chuckled, and one flicked her ear lightly with its wooden tongue._  
_“Do you think that will work?” she asked, then sighed. “No, I know,” she said, “I just don't want to wind up back down there.”_  
_“Alright, alright,” she told them. “But in the future, we've got to get you voices. This is way too confusing to watch.” She rolled her eyes apologetically at you, then slipped her staff behind her back; she darted up, jumping from piece of rubble to stair to piece of-_  
_It gave way beneath her, and she slipped, but managed to catch the stair with a hand; the snake there gripped it, and the other slipped over to help. She grunted, catching them, and swung herself up onto it. The snakes flowed over her again, reassuming their positions, and she smiled at them._  
_“Well,” she said, “that kind of worked. You see why I didn't want to do it, though.” She leaned against the wall, holding a hand over her chest while she waited for her heart to stop fluttering as quickly. “Since we're just waiting,” she told you, a little breathlessly, “this is my weapon, a caduceus. Despite what you may have heard, it's not the rod of Asclepius; that's the one that has medical application. Yes, I know you know,” she said to the snakes, which regarded her inquisitively; “but I don't know if they do. Anyway. The caduceus is a symbol of commerce and duality, in brief; in some worlds, it's used as a symbol of healthcare organizations.” She chuckled. “Not very good ones. But it sure does represent the exchange of money.”_  
_She stood, again, and her hair changed from a deep black to a sandy yellow as she looked up.”I need to get up there,” she explained, “so I can get back to what I was doing. Last time, they managed to trap me and put me down here, and I was expecting the snake to be metaphorical.” She winked at you. “But we've got a lot of lost time to catch up on. How long, Rod?” The snake on her hand turned and flicked its tongue at her. “Couple thousand... Jeeze. Well, we'll see what the situation's like when we're up there.”_  
_She leaned out over empty space, looking up; if she squinted, she could just barely make out light. “But first, we have to get up there.”_

“Fourteen fortnights,” Muezza said.  
Margaret nodded.  
Threll piped up. _Do you think that was...?_  
“Yeah,” Muezza said. “No doubt about it.” She shook her head. “You think they felt her taking the staff?”  
_Well, we did, but we were right here. They might be across the world by now._  
“And with a time limit...” Muezza growled, then stood, uneaten food forgotten. “And we don't know where they are, much less Iyun... Threll, could you research the forest? If that was a representation of a real place, it should be in the library.”  
_Of course,_ Threll said, and then he was gone. Muezza murmured something, and shook her head.  
“Who's Iyun?” Margaret asked.  
“Our cousin,” Muezza answered, looking out the window and folding her arms. “The one that Threll lost his body looking for. The one you talked to, their name's Uthk. Threll and Iyun, they protected the Guardian, kept them on their feet. Uthk and I, well...” She hesitated, then waved a hand. “You've seen the door, you know.”  
“I think so,” Margaret murmured. “But what about the hunting party? And my reflection?”  
“Most likely the Nightwatcher,” Muezza answered. “Some idiot we fought a long time ago, put into his place... As for your reflection, I'm not sure. I'd wager that it was the tower, trying to communicate Uthk's message to you.”  
“The tower has-” Margaret swallowed. “Oh.”  
Muezza glanced over. “Mm. Why're you blushing?”  
Margaret started. “What?? Oh, uh, no reason!” She picked up her plate and started to shovel food into her mouth, trying to hide her face.  
“... It kissed you, didn't it?”  
“... Maybe.”  
Muezza sighed, plopping back into her chair and putting her hands on her head, rubbing her temples lightly. Margaret peeped over her plate. “You're not the first new Guardian it's done that to. Honestly, I'm not sure where it got the idea, but it seems like it kisses to show approval, and it won't listen to anyone who tries to tell it why that's a bad idea.”  
“Oh.” Margaret put her plate back down, looking at her food. She glanced up, and Muezza was looking right at her. “Um.”  
Muezza sighed again. “Look. We need to get you trained in what the Guardian can do, so we can go rescue my cousins. Okay?”  
Margaret nodded. “Okay. Um...”  
Muezza raised an eyebrow at her.  
“Does the training involve more kissing?”


	9. In Which An Explanation Is Given

This room was broader than should have fit in the tower. It was wide, clearly cared for, and she could make out the back far in the distance, past the rows and rows of bookshelves. A number of books spiralled around a podium, each open to specific pages, held precariously on small ledges.  
The largest book lay on a podium of its own, the spine bent carefully so both faces could sit on the platform; thin pages leafed with a gentle breeze, and then there was a sense of attention. _Ah,_ Threll said, pausing the rifling. _I've found the whispering forest of yours, and decided to look into the Nightwatcher. We have records of him from several periods, before we got involved, and reports of more recent activity._  
“He was sealed, though,” Muezza noted.  
_In a chamber that had housed him before, yes. It seems as though our further binding had not prevented him from gaining power and freeing himself once more._  
“Threll? You sound kind of irked,” Margaret stated. “What's up?”  
There was a pause. Then, _It seems as though all of our work is fading away without a Guardian to renew it, or our cousins. This is worrying. We've sealed away a great many creatures that mean our peoples harm, and for them all to be released at once..._  
“The world would be reborn in fire and pain,” Muezza finished. “In other news, though, the tower seems to like her.”  
_Mm. Good. That'll make it easier._ Threll sighed.  
Margaret paused, and made a face. “Er... Maybe we've already covered this, but what exactly does this Guardian of yours do?”  
Muezza shared a glance with the space that Threll's mind was currently inhabiting. “You didn't tell her?”  
_There wasn't much time. You saw how they were._  
“Great.” Muezza shook her head. “Margaret, the role of the Guardian is simple; you are to protect humans and djinn from powerful things that would see them harmed. There's a number of rules. Tower, could you fetch them for us?” There was the sound of crinkling, and then a light breeze brought a slim tome out of the library, somehow floating on it. Muezza caught it as it passed, flipping it open and glancing inside before passing it to Margaret. “They're mostly there to tell you things, information you will or may need to conduct the station properly. We've got our own rules, of course, but...”  
_Those may not apply to our situation. Or our cousins'._  
“Also, I don't want to give you too much reading. This isn't school. And, well...” Muezza sighed. “Ultimately, it's your choice whether you want to be the Guardian or not. Obviously, Threll and the tower think you're suited for the role, but if you want to go back to your life, we won't stop you.”  
Margaret hesitated, holding the volume carefully. “Has anyone chosen not to be the Guardian, after this?”  
_There have been some,_ Threll answered. _We, well, kept tabs on them. Just in case. But often, each Guardian is the apprentice of the one before. This is sort of an awkward situation._  
“I see,” Margaret murmured. “By protect humans and djinn, you mean, all of them?”  
“Mostly here, on the Western continent,” Muezza said.  
_But this whispering woods of yours is located on the edge of the Southern. We've been there once, a long time ago, and will likely need to go there again. Whether or not you choose to become the Guardian. Your dreams have import. If the Nightwatcher has manifested in them, we need to take care of it._  
“Granted,” Muezza added, “with just the two of us, we're likely to get into some jams. But we can handle it, if need be.”  
Margaret nodded. “Alright. I'll... need some time to think about it.”  
_It was rather sudden,_ Threll noted. _Should you need me, I'll likely be here._  
“And I'm going to escort you around,” Muezza said. “Make sure you don't get lost in this place. It can be confusing at first.”  
“Ok,” Margaret said. “What sorts of rooms are in this tower, anyway?”

_She paced. Her tunic was tattered, covered in dust from her ascent. Her snakes slithered over her arms and shoulders slowly, her mood affecting their own. Her staff was leaned against the obstacle keeping her from freedom- a large, round boulder. She paused, glancing at you, then turned to you fully with a smile. “Oh, hey, you're back!”_  
_She waved in the direction she'd come from, and as if on cue, a seeping of stone and dirt rustled down the stairwell. “That was tedious,” she said. “And this has resisted all attempts to be moved. I can't just blast it like Tanis would, I'm not that powerful. I can't slip past it, either, because it's been fused to the rock. I can tell where it's weakest, but that's all the way at the top, and I don't know if I'd be able to slip past even then.” She shook her head._  
_“That might work,” she told the left snake, “but it'll take a lot of work, and I'm on an empty stomach here. Yes, I know I don't need to eat, but it's the same sort of thing. Well, no, I don't really have any other ideas...” She sighed, shook her head again, and began to sing._  
_The words were half-meaningful, but you couldn't make out what they were; it was a gibberish that sounded very close to your native language, but not quite. Sounds were off, like they were being pronounced by a foreigner, and the sentence structure was all wrong. Yet still, she continued, swaying softly; her snakes swayed, flicking their tongues in and out, and slowly, slowly, the rock cracked. Spiderwebs of cracks slipped around the boulder, and she slipped to one side while her song reached a peak, and with a resounding noise, the boulder started to roll into the cave._  
_She slipped out from behind it, looking back as it hit the stairwell and promptly fell, banging off each step heavily, and she let the song end with a smile as she turned towards the light, holding an arm over her face._  
_She emerged in a cave, staff sliding over the stone behind her before standing up into her hand. She inspected it, then nodded, and walked slowly through the ground stone, her bare feet brushing the bases of stalagmites. Finally, the light spilled over her, and she blinked into it._  
_Soft yellow grass, full of chittering bugs, encircled the mound that she found herself emerging from. A few markings nearby clarified it to be a burial mound; she couldn't tell whether it had been meant for her, or a human chieftan. An errant thought made the roof of the cave change, ever so subtly, and she looked up._  
_It was sunset, here. The breeze brought the scent of salt, and if she strained her ears, she could just barely hear the cries of seagulls. A forest encircled her mound, old growth; for some reason, it hadn't grown over it. Probably to not give her anything unexpected. She turned and scrambled up the hill, heedless of the things in the grass, weaving a complicated dance with them almost subconsciously. When she finally reached the top, she dusted herself off- not that that helped her tunic- and held a hand over her brow while she turned, slowly._  
_Water. She was surrounded by water on all sides; she thought she could see other islands in the distance, but she could also see the reefs encircling this one. She sighed._  
_“This,” she said, to no one in particular, “is going to be difficult.”_


	10. In Which An Exposition Is Given

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters included in this chapter:  
> Margaret, our protagonist. The wix who would be Guardian.  
> Muezza, a djinn. One of the Guardian's servants. A little catty.  
> Threll, a djinn. Muezza's cousin.  
> The unknown woman on an unknown island.

Margaret adjusted her pack. “You're sure this is all we'll need?”  
Muezza shrugged. “We'll be able to find more on the other side.”  
_Since you're going to the Southern continent,_ Threll piped up, _you'll want AUB._  
“Mm. I don't remember what it looks like from that side.”  
A piece of paper floated over, and Muezza nodded. “Right. These symbols.” She folded it into her own pack carefully.  
“AUB?” Margaret asked.  
“It's the third useful world,” Muezza explained. “We can go through the thin place at the base of the tower and get there, and then find our way to this one cave that we can take over to the Southern continent. It's faster than sailing, and it'll get you used to the staff.”  
Margaret nodded. “What's it like?”  
_As I recall,_ Threll began, _it's not unlike the inside of a large earthen vessel. I believe it has one notable animal species, which primarily eat mushrooms and ferns._  
“The goblins,” Muezza noted.  
_Right. They'll probably be able to help you._  
“Er, goblins?” Margaret asked.  
“Yeah. Short little green people...” Muezza looked at her. “Oh, you're thinking about the folklore, right? No, they're nothing like that. Most of the ones I've met just wanted to do their own thing.”  
“Right,” Margaret said. She squeezed the staff, then sighed. “And what exactly is a thin place?”  
“Somewhere where multiple worlds meet,” Muezza answered. “Usually, they keep to themselves, but... Think of it like a sandwich, right? We're on a leaf of lettuce, or the salami, or something. Other worlds can touch ours, but not usually permeate it, unless the materials grow thin.”  
_Imperfect metaphor,_ Threll noted. _Any given world can touch any other. The tower was built upon a nexus of these thin places._  
“And other worlds actually exist?” Margaret shook her head and sighed again. “I think I need to sit down for a minute to digest all this. Threll, are there any dangers we need to look out for?”  
_Cave ins, mostly. The records indicate some rambunctious species of plants, but a good firm thwack about the head should keep anything from trying to harm you._  
“And why can't you come with us again?”  
_Because I don't have a body. Minds alone cannot penetrate thin places; they need to be fooled into it, usually, and having a body aids that. Besides, someone needs to stay here and watch over the tower. It gets lonely if left alone._  
Margaret sighed. “Right.”  
Muezza leaned over her, adjusting her pack, and offered a hand. “It won't be that difficult, Margaret. All we have to do is get through it, and then we can check out this whispering forest of yours firsthand. If the Nightwatcher's rampant, we'll put him in his place, and be back in two weeks, tops.” She smiled. “Sound good?”  
Margaret smiled back lightly, took Muezza's hand, and stood up. She tried to walk, then realized that her hand was still being held. “Um...”  
“We'll need to close our eyes for part of it, and I know where to go, so I'm gonna hold your hand. Got it?”  
Margaret nodded, twining her fingers with Muezza's, then murmured, “Why're you blushing?”  
Threll laughed as Muezza turned her face away. “No reason. C'mon, let's go.”

The pair of them descended. The tower's heart beat softly, red light showing their way through the stone, down a long, spiraling stair cut into it directly. It was just wide enough for them to walk abreast, and soon they reached a cave, lit by a single glowing orb. It branched, many times, in many directions.  
“Caves are some of the easiest thin places,” Muezza explained. “Especially twisty ones, like this. You get turned around, don't know which way is which, everything looks the same in the dark... Then you emerge, and you're somewhere else entirely. Most natural thin places are caves, but there's bits of forest and other places that grow thin over time.”  
Margaret nodded, squeezing Muezza's hand lightly. “So, which way are we going?”  
“There's letters and numbers inscribed over the cave entrances.” Muezza adjusted her backpack, pointing over them. “We've just gotta find AUB. It stands for something, but I don't remember what.”  
Margaret nodded again. “You said it was the third helpful one?”  
“Right. From North, clockwise, so...” She pointed, walking them around, then nodded. “This one.”  
“How do we go through it?”  
“We step in, close our eyes, and keep walking. This'll make sure that, when one of us catches it, the other one does too.” She raised their hands, and Margaret squeezed again; it was hard to make out her blush, down here, but it was definitely there.  
“Y'know, Muezza, you're kind of a curious person.”  
She blinked. “What do you mean?”  
“You came off as harsh, at first, and then you... Well, you kicked Dalton off the tower, and tried to kill the other two. But now a little hand holding makes you blush? I don't get it.”  
Muezza frowned, looking away again. “Threll's been teasing me the whole time down here. I don't need it from you, too.”  
Margaret laughed. “Got it.”  
They walked, and Margaret noted every time Muezza stumbled a little and clung closer, or their hips brushed and Muezza looked away to hide her blush. At the entrance to the cave, she paused. “It's time to close our eyes. You'd better use that staff so we don't trip over anything.”  
Margaret nodded, cradling it in her free arm, sweeping the point over the ground gently while she pulled Muezza in closer- she mewled a little, which made Margaret laugh again, but didn't pull away- and together, they walked into the darkness.

_The raft hit the surf. She nodded, walking it out of the shallows, then scrambled up. She was wearing a sleeveless shirt, tucked into a pair of trousers, that she'd woven from grass and strips of bark, together with ivy. Her snakes curled around the mast she'd lashed, ready to correct the primative, woven sail, or take it down as need be, and she sighed._  
_“Right,” she said, then settled at the front of her raft, and began to pole her way out into the sea. After a little, she had to paddle, instead; the wings on her staff made that relatively easy._  
_The trees she'd left rustled sadly. They'd enjoyed her company, but if she decided it was time to part, they couldn't stop her._

A wave of tiredness hit Margaret, and she faltered. “Muezza?”  
“Mm?” The voice came from not far away; their arms were still curled together, fingers twined softly. Margaret leaned in, and she could practically feel the heat of Muezza's blush.  
“I'm exhausted all of a sudden. Is that supposed to happen?”  
“Oh, right. Yeah, if this is the first few times you've gone through a thin place, it'll make you tired. Threll probably packed enough food for us, but we'll need to take a rest, soon as we get out of this cave.”  
“Oh, we're through?” Margaret frowned. “Can I open my eyes now?”  
There was a pause. “Yes, but, uh...”  
“But what?” Margaret tilted her head.  
“Well, I think your shirt had the wrong kind of metal in the buttons, so...”  
She froze. Now that she thought of it, she could feel a light breeze... “So?” she squeaked.  
“It, um. Got left behind. Hang on, I packed extra clothes just in case.” Muezza tugged her arm out gently, then there was an unzipping noise. Margaret opened her eyes, and found that she could see Muezza's blush quite clearly in the blue light, leaning against the opposite wall while she rummaged through her pack. Finally, she pulled out a shirt, handing it over wordlessly and then turning away pointedly.  
Margaret pulled it on, finding that it didn't fit quite right- it was a bit tight around the chest, and loose around the arms, but it'd work. She stretched a little, to be sure, then curled her arm around Muezza's again. She jumped at the touch, and Margaret chuckled. “I'm decent,” she said, and Muezza didn't stop her from twining their fingers together again, though she looked flustered.  
“Right,” she said, then shook a bit. “Let's see about going and finding some goblins, yeah?”


End file.
